


The Flower Valley

by bay_sik



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Courtesan AU, M/M, Romance, The Valley of Amazment au, a courtesan is a fancy prostitute so we're delving into issues about that, junhui/others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bay_sik/pseuds/bay_sik
Summary: Shanghai, 1918. In the ancient tradition of courting mistresses and buying love, Junhui is known as Shining Flower, the highest-ranking male courtesan in the entire city. But love is a tricky thing that can't be bought, and that comes in bumbling, sometimes accidentally offensive packages.





	The Flower Valley

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't even finished reading The Valley of Amazement, but two characters screamed "Junhui" and "Joshua" at me, so I wrote this for a straight twelve hours. AP world history didn't dive into the concept of male courtesans and their acceptability in society in early 20th century China, so let's just call that a historical argument that can be glossed over for the sake of the 'literature'.  
> I don't pretend to own any of the plot, most of it is taken from the book with my own spin on some of the situations, dialogue, and characters. Please, enjoy!

* * *

_Shanghai_

* * *

**1918**

* * *

 

The Flower Valley was located in a quiet, unassuming neighborhood on the edge of the International Settlement. Junhui’s mother always said that the true mark of a first-class courtesan house was that you wouldn’t be able to tell it apart from the buildings around it. The Flower Valley had newly painted walls and a gate of intricately woven iron tipped with brass, which required a full-time gatekeeper to operate the heavy locks and to announce visitors. The doors of the house itself were solid and dark, framed with hinges and handles of heavy bronze. The interior was just as dark and tastefully decorated, with silk hangings and long ornate couches. Parties were a weekly event, with the clout of Shanghai business and government mingling together, courtesans entertaining different pockets of the room, infused tobacco sweetening the air.     

It was a far cry from the whore houses and opium dens stacked on top of one another near the port streets, overrun with sailors and poor men who didn’t have two silver dollars to their name. Junhui never entered them, but his mother had made sure their walks had deviated every now and then to see the squalid conditions. Slave girls hawked their bodies from the streets, and men grinned at them with black teeth and sores on their skin. The acrid, too sweet opium smoke made Junhui dizzy, even though he was always several dozen meters away.

“This is what we’ve fought against,” his mother would say. The many rings on her fingers would feel cold and hard as she squeezed his fat, little-boy fist in her hand. “If those minions at your schools have bad things to say about your mama, just know we aren’t this.”

It was this image, among others, that sprung forward with the speed that only true repulsion can have, when Kahi, the madam of The Flower Valley, told the Junhui and his Flower sisters that they would begin accepting foreigners as clients.

Dew Flower, the youngest of them and still a virgin courtesan, whimpered in terror. Fire Flower stiffened, her fan pausing in the warm summer air. Rain, Winter, and Fruit Flower looked at each other uneasily. Forever Flower, the only other male courtesan, sniffed loudly, turning his nose up like a child.

Rose Petal, the senior attendant who had worked at Junhui’s mother’s house when he was a child, stepped forward, her head bowed slightly.

“Madam, foreigners have never been allowed to be patrons in any first-class house such as ours.”

Kahi was an intimidating figure, even during the day, her unpainted face both beautiful and fierce.

“The days of courtesans are numbered,” she said, inciting a mild look of panic in all the Flowers before continuing, “ _if_ we don’t change. Foreigners are not going away, and their money makes them as good as the Chinese. We have taken risks with our house before, and we are still among the most envied houses in all of Shanghai.”

All of the Flowers took on the visible effort of not looking directly at Junhui or Forever Flower. Junhui felt his ears grow hot.

“But Madam,” he said. Kahi snapped her own fan shut, leveling Junhui with a calm gaze. He had not adjusted to life as a courtesan at the beginning--and had given her much grief--but he had served her faithfully for the last four years, earning a grudging respect from Kahi that he rarely exercised. “Foreigners are a different beast. Their influence is something that could change the fate of our house and our Flowers forever.”

Kahi cocked her head. Junhui would mistake it for her pondering his words, but he knew Kahi rarely gave any opinion but her own much thought. If she was presenting her plan to the Flowers, not much he could say would change it. But he would voice his displeasure, even if it fell on deaf ears.

“I know you have more grievances than even the Boxers against foreigners. You are not alone in your distrust. But, my competitors thought it would be a mistake to take on a male courtesan,” Kahi said cooly, and Junhui knew the argument would be finished. “You and Minghao have proved that going against the norm can be rewarding. And it is with that mindset that we will begin to integrate the foreigner into our tradition.”

Junhui felt a bud of fury form in his chest. _I am not your golden guinea pig that proves you can do anything!_ he wanted to shout. With anyone besides Kahi, who had treated him with patience and fairness, he would have exploded. He bit his tongue so hard that his mouth filled with the taste of copper.

Rose Petal stepped forward again. “Madam, when can we expect our Flowers to have these...additional guests to entertain?”

Kahi didn’t hesitate, and Junhui was right to assume she had a plan in motion long before this breakfast-tea ambush.

“We will not become a brothel on the docks. Our Western clients will be as highly scrutinized as our Chinese. One of our long time patrons has a few Western investors that he will introduce to us one at a time, after which we will decide if they are worthy of being patrons of The Flower Valley.”

Rain and Winter Flower, the simpler of the Flowers, each heaved a sigh of relief. But Junhui felt uneasy, knowing that there was something else that Kahi hadn’t revealed yet.

“Who is the patron?” he asked.

Kahi smiled simply. “I’m sure you remember Yixing.”

Junhui broke decorum, and swore under his breath.

 

* * *

**1908**

* * *

 

 

Yixing had been a client of the courtesan house that Junhui’s mother had ran in another district of Shanghai. Before the otherthrow of the emperor, Junhui’s childhood was not filled with the house except on breaks from school. Yixing was already a young man courting a beautiful courtesan named Treasure when Junhui met him for the first time. Well, ‘met’ is a strong verb, and yet not enough to describe what had occurred. Junhui’s treasured cat, Bongbong, had taken a swipe at Yixing’s stupid younger brother, who was trying to catch the tabby by its tail.

“Idiot,” Yixing had said, but fondly. As Bongbong was Junhui’s responsibility, his mother had ordered him to the kitchens to help the maids make a salve and bandage.

“I saw you, but not in the party.” Junhui had looked up from measuring hot water to see Yixing’s inquisitive eyes. “On the stairs. Looking between the railings. You're curious about the people in your mother’s house?”

Junhui shook his head. “I know why you’re all here.” He was ten, not stupid.

Yixing grinned, like that was the one answer he was looking for. He left his brother, whimpering, to the maids. He’d probably never met an actual child of a madam. Junhui didn’t see how it made him special, but Yixing was interested, and Junhui let the attention wash over him. His mother didn’t have much to spare with the full-time running of the house.

“What are you studying in school?”

“Languages,” Junhui said. He told Yixing it was hard, but that he liked being able to read his mother the English newspaper at breakfast.

“The Japanese are becoming pests,” Yixing said in the respective language, albeit with a terrible accent that made Junhui giggle.

“Yes,” he said, because Yixing was probably a junior businessman, and most businessmen didn’t like the Japanese.

Yixing smiled again, and told Junhui to watch after his mother and to keep studying hard, and then left to go find where his Treasure had gotten off to.

A few years went by, and although Yixing was always a patron at another courtesan house for the season, Junhui had anticipated meeting him again during his time home, and that he might be able to give him a booklet on Japanese pronunciation.

But then the last of the Qing emperors fell.

Junhui’s mother, who had never been much for politics, kept him home from school, afraid of protests. Their house had been situated closer to the International Settlement than The Flower Valley and it only took a few anti-Western demonstrations for Junhui’s mother to flee to Soochow to see about acquiring a house away from the turbulence of Shanghai.

His mother intended to come back for him--Junhui knows this--but there are plans that never come to fruition. Rumors trickled down that the immovable madam of Jade House had been tricked out of her money by an American in Soochow and had signed her house over to gangsters.

Whether this was true or not, the gangsters in Shanghai needed no other authority. At fourteen, he was torn from his books and sold to a low level brothel as an attendant, where he thought he would die, until Kahi showed up almost immediately after he’d crossed the threshold and bought the famous son of the Jade House.

He was, understandably, in a furious temper. He’d gone from a school child who only lived on the fringes of the courtesan lifestyle to being a twice-sold slave living in the quarters of the beautiesthemselves.

Rose Petal was his only saving grace. Having worked for his mother years earlier, she assured Kahi that Junhui would be able to add intrigue to the house. It was in his blood, after all!

“Male courtesans…” Kahi had said, unsure. “If there are any, they surely operate separately.”

“There is stigma in those circles,” Rose Petal argued. “Men are creatures of all sorts of inklings, but the highest among them will not pursue those urges in districts that will harm their reputation. Allow them to have their unique taste along with the class that they cannot get elsewhere, but only in our house.”

Kahi had only needed a day to think on the matter. The next month’s tabloids were filled with rumors that the new virgin courtesan of The Flower Valley was male.

“I hate this,” Junhui said. He was an open-minded boy, as growing up in a courtesan house had left him no choice to be. He had no qualms about men who wanted to lay with other men. But he had also been largely disgusted by what other things he saw. Men with no brains but the one in-between their legs, men with no depth except the extent of their wallets. And the girls who had to mold themselves into one fantasy after another until they were worn past their youthful looks and had to move to another, lower house. Junhui wanted no part of it.

Rose Petal stopped her demonstration of how to artfully-- _seductively_ \--untie his _chang pao._ She rapped him on the arm.

“This is your life now, little flower. You might even be luckier than the girls, if you plan correctly. They have the title of past-courtesan everywhere they go. After you pay back Madam what she paid for you, you might be able to live a normal life.”

Junhui doubted that.

However, he was out of options. If he ran away and was caught, he’d have to pay back the finder’s fee on top of his original debt. If he ran away and _wasn’t_ caught, he’d no doubt have to start as a slave again elsewhere. Here, he had the protection of Kahi and the faint hope that perhaps one day he’d leave The Flower Valley and never return.

So he began his training to be Shanghai’s first first-class male courtesan. He learned how to flirt with men, how to draw forth the ones who wanted a man’s company and to tempt those who had never considered it. Rose Petal educated him in oils that he could use to slick himself and his partners. She showed him how to inspect a man for diseases before Junhui was to allow entrance into his body. She praised his inability to conceive children, as that was always the top concern for the other beauties. An actor came to demonstrate to Junhui what it would feel like to be under another man. He wore a loincloth and never touched Junhui unless specifically instructed to do so, but Junhui felt his presence like it was a mountain poised over him.

“Patrons are your goal,” Rose Petal drove into him at every opportunity. “They will be difficult to come by. Most will not commit a season of three months with a boy when they are used to women. But patrons are what will pay off your debt and provide for you.” She always fingered the heavy gold-and-pearl bracelet at her wrist while she said this. It was something Junhui remembered from her days at his mother’s house, and must have represented a favorite patron from her youth.

Junhui was presented as a virgin courtesan at a small party with only the most elite of The Flower Valley’s clients. He did not remember most of it, slick with sweat and sick with nerves. He was painted like the girls to show the shape of his eyes and mouth, but his _chang pao_ looked bulky and eye-drawing in the worst possible way compared to the other courtesans’ elegant _qi paos_.

“He’s beautiful,” an older man had said, as if the fact was almost too surprising to comprehend.

Junhui remembered belatedly to draw his head down in modesty.

The host of the party was an old man who was besotted with Winter Flower, and Junhui tried his best to attract the nice kind of attention that Rose Petal wanted him to, but it was frustrating.

As the evening wore on, Junhui noticed that he was being noticed. He could feel the weight of eyes on him, and his body suddenly felt a hundred times heavier, his attention fully on his posture and the movement of his fingers.

“Shining Flower,” Rose Petal hissed in Junhui’s ear. His flower name was startling to hear so suddenly. He blinked up to meet Rose Petal’s eyes. “A guest has requested that you attend to him.” She jerked her chin over to the table, and surely enough, a spot was being cleared so that Junhui could sit.

“Me?”

Rose Petal didn’t deign his stupid question with a response, and shoved him out of his chair against the wall and towards the dinner party. He felt the confused and envious gazes of the other courtesans against his neck.

Junhui commended himself on not tripping or dragging the sleeves of his robes through the various dishes at the table as he filled the wine glass of the guest who had requested him.

“You look the same,” came the hushed whisper from beside him, and Junhui snapped up, nearly splashing himself with wine, to see Yixing.

Yixing smiled at the shock the spread across Junhui’s features. “Hello, Bongbong’s owner.” He said it in awful Japanese.

Junhui felt a smattering of emotions, and they all ended with blood rising to his cheeks.

“You? How are you…” He felt indignant as Yixing’s first comment finally registered with him. “The same? I’m almost fifteen.” And wearing courtesan’s makeup, he left unsaid.

Yixing laughed as if Junhui had said something hilarious, and didn’t answer his question.

Yixing gave him leave to eat, and Junhui did so slowly, feeling both elated to see a familiar face, and uneasy at what it might mean to be called to his side.

“I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your mother’s house,” Yixing said eventually. Junhui, at this point, had had five months to get used to his reality, but hearing it mentioned out loud felt as if someone had taken a hammer to his chest.

“I miss her,” he said simply, hoping he didn’t sound like the ten year old Yixing no doubt saw him as.

“My father introduced me to society at the Jade House. Your mother was strict with the men, but the women in her house were the most beautiful in all of Shanghai.” Junhui’s throat felt tight when Yixing’s eyes made a slow journey down his face, to the fabric of his robes. “That holds true, I see.”

“I’m no woman,” Junhui said, playfully but strictly, the way Rose Petal had told him to. He could not waste his time with men who wanted to experiment with him and throw him away after a night.

“Forgive me,” Yixing said around a laugh. “I only mean that you’ve grown to be an extraordinary beauty. I often think of those first days that I was a boy, and everything was new and wonderful in bed. I wonder…how it might feel with another man who is also so new to it.”

Junhui struggled to maintain his composure at the slow way of Yixing’s talking. He cursed himself. He was no better than the silly girls who fanned themselves after every lusty comment from leering men. He breathed deeply.  

“You may wonder all you like,” Junhui said airily, looking back to his plate. “But only those who dedicate themselves to me will truly know.”

It was the right thing to say.

After the party, Junhui’s reputation as a quick-witted boy that rivaled the beauty of his women peers preceded him in the papers. He was invited to more parties, and was even thrown a few parties by men who had begun to line up to buy his first time.

Rose Petal was beyond relieved, counting Junhui’s money-gifts for attending parties and making sure to adorn his wrists and ears with the jewelry sent by his growing number of suitors.

His favorite was of course Yixing. Junhui’s youth mistook Yixing’s infatuation with, perhaps not love, but something very similar. Yixing was ten years his senior, but still far younger than other suitors that were vying for Junhui’s affections. He sent the most lavish gifts: pendants and silks and even furniture for Junhui’s rooms. He sent letters when he was unable to attend Junhui’s functions and wrote endlessly on the day when he could claim Junhui’s body with his own.

Kahi was impressed. “Yixing deals with many of Shanghai’s top businessmen. His interest in you is enough to secure your future.”

Junhui had started off his training as a virgin courtesan with nothing short of repulsion. But when he thought of Yixing hovering over him like the actor had, when he thought of Yixing moving inside him like the smooth fake-cock Rose Petal had taught him to pleasure himself with, he shivered and reached the height faster than he had ever before.

 

* * *

 

 

The day of Junhui’s coming of age, Yixing sent his secretary ahead with regrets that he could not offer to be Junhui’s patron, as he had left for an extended business trip in Hong Kong the week previously.

Junhui, shell-shocked and unbelieving, was sold to Yixing’s friend, a man named Lu Han who was in his thirties. He offered a three season patronage and a money-gift that was enough to feed a family for half a year. He was handsome and generous, and Junhui grew to like him after the bitterness of Yixing’s betrayal had faded. But he was not foolish enough to ever let another man incite the feelings that Yixing had stirred within him during those months.

 

* * *

**1918**

* * *

 

 

Junhui had not wanted to accompany Madam and the other Flowers to the meeting with Yixing and the foreigner, but as he was the only person in the house who was skilled with English—which was apparently the only language the foreigner spoke—his presence was required. Underneath his fury, Junhui had to wonder just how Yixing managed to communicate with the foreigner, much less invite him to a first-class courtesan house, if his atrocious Japanese was anything to go by.  

Yixing smiled, as if he was an old friend, as Junhui led the courtesan party into the room. Junhui sneered at him. Yixing, although indeed gone for a lengthy time in Hong Kong, did eventually return and was Junhui’s patron for the most intense and self-loathing season of Junhui’s life at The Flower Valley. Yixing was too self-absorbed to think Junhui’s behavior in the years since their ‘tryst’ as anything but Junhui being the spit-fire that he had grown to be known in the world of courtesan life.

Junhui shook his head as if to physically fling his thoughts elsewhere, and decided to focus on the foreigner.

He stopped, looking at Kahi and then Rose Petal’s equally shocked faces before turning to the foreigner and addressing him in English. “You are a foreigner?”

The man grinned. He was wearing a Western suit, but that was not uncommon in the rapidly modernizing Shanghai. His hair and eyes were dark. His eyes were also a slanted almond shape, and the slight yellow tint of his tanned skin gave him to be nothing else but oriental.

“American. But rumor has it that I have a drop or two of the Asian man in me,” the foreigner said, clearly joking.

Junhui tried not to let his shock linger. He would not let this non-foreign foreigner get the better of him.

“Where are your parents from?”

The man shrugged. “My parents are the most Anglo San Franciscans you can find. Missionaries brought me from Korea to be their son.”

“Joseon,” Junhui said in Chinese for the benefit of the others. It made even Forever Flower, who didn’t like to admit when he was confused, breathe in a collective hum of understanding. He addressed the foreigner again. “What is your name?”

“Joshua Jisoo Williams.”

“Joshua is hard to say in Chinese,” Junhui said, having trouble himself fitting all the syllables into one name. “ _Jisu_ ,” he said, using the characters for “plain” and “extreme”. The other courtesans giggled. A foreigner that wasn’t all that foreign, what extreme plainness indeed.    

“What do you do in Shanghai?” Junhui asked before Joshua could become offended that the others were laughing at him.

“My parents own a large shipping company in the Bay.” A titter of interest broke through the beauties when Junhui translated for them. “I’m here to serve as their middle man in China.”

“Without speaking any Chinese,” Junhui deadpanned, not hiding the turning of his lip.

Joshua shrugged good-naturedly, a smile crinkling his eyes into slits. “There are plenty of people in the International Settlement that never bothered. But I’m trying.” He cleared his throat. “ _How are you today? The seas are rough.”_

He sat at the edge of his seat, looking at Junhui and then the others, as if someone would appreciate his woeful attempt. Junhui understood what brought Yixing and Joshua together now: a mutual love of mangling languages.

“Yes,” was all Junhui had to say about it. He changed the subject before Joshua could attempt another sentence in Shanghainese.

“What makes you want to see a courtesan house?” This was the main question that Kahi wanted answered before the foreigners would be allowed.

“Yixing here says that there is nothing to compare, not anywhere else on Earth.”

Junhui translated it for Kahi, who nodded, although no one could tell what she actually thought of the response.

“It’s very lovely,” Joshua continued, waving with his hands to indicate the interior, and then he gave a small nodded to the beauties sitting along the wall. “And they are lovely as well, given their situation.”

Ice pricked Junhui’s gut at the simple dismissal. He looked over at Yixing, but Yixing was obviously trying to figure out parts of the conversation from three steps back, and was useless.

“I’m sorry, their situation?”

Joshua licked his lips, sitting forward. “Well, I’m sure it’s all they’ve known. We can’t pretend to know their full situation, I suppose.”

“Maybe _you_ can’t,” Junhui said sternly.

Joshua’s brow furrowed in confusion. His gaze flickered down to register Junhui’s traditional clothes, how his hair was long and twisted back with ornate hair clips, and his eyes widened dramatically.

“You--I’m mean of course you can be...I apologize.” He was obviously shaken, and Fire Flower called from the back, asking why the Joseon man was swallowing his tongue like a dog.

“He didn’t think a man could be among my beloved sisters’ ranks,” Junhui said, and repeated it in English, looking calmly at Joshua.

“I…” Joshua shook his head, and a rueful smile replaced his mortified grin. “You must forgive me. Such things are still quite shocking to me on the Orient.”

Junhui smiled tightly, but decided to not pursue the matter, if it meant that this meeting would be resolved all the faster.

He didn’t pause in the moment to consider his indignation, his need to show Joshua how wrong he was, but Junhui later acknowledged that he was proud of his post as a high-ranked courtesan. There was a delicateness in seduction; it required calculation and cunning. After five years, he was a master.

“I’ll be living here…” Joshua trialed off. “Indefinitely. My parents were able to conceive a biological hier after I arrived with them. I can make my home anywhere.”

Junhui detected an edge of sadness to his optimism.

“I think our interview, as we would call it, is over,” Junhui said. Another foreigner was coming later in the afternoon, and he didn’t know what to think of Joshua the American just yet. Kahi didn’t object to adjourning the meeting.

Junhui stood up, as did Yixing and Joshua. But Joshua was nodding to himself, and reached into his pocket. He withdrew an envelope and handed it to Junhui. Junhui was beyond stunned that this man would think that any part of this meeting had been a sign of success. That any one of the Flowers could be his for the day after a half-hour of tepid questions and one envelope of money.

“Any one of them will do,” Joshua said helpfully.

Junhui bit his lip in outrage as he overturned the offering. A pathetic amount of silver dollars fell, hitting the table Joshua and Yixing had been sitting at. All and all, about twenty dollars was there, the shiny faces of the coins like tiny mirrors.

Panic erupted among the Flowers. Minghao was cursing foreign scum; Fire Flower was decrying the harbor and the boat that brought this stupid man; Fruit Flower was holding a sobbing Dew Flower.

Joshua was even more surprised than he had been after insulting Junhui’s profession to his face. He turned to Yixing, sputtering in a language that was not English or Chinese. Yixing, for his credit, had been paying enough attention to know what was happening and was already herding Joshua out by the collar.

“I’ll find out how this happened,” he promised, pushing Joshua towards the door. “I meant no disrespect, I promise you. Tell Madam that I’ll get Dew Flower’s virgin price doubled for this trouble.”

The house was mercifully quiet after Yixing and Joshua had disappeared.

Junhui scoffed at the coins littering the ground. Perhaps Kahi would take this as a reason to keep foreigners from the doors of The Flower Valley.           

 

* * *

 

Two letters arrived for Junhui the next day. One was a thicker envelope, which garnered some interest, but he saw Yixing’s cramped script on the smaller one, and opened it first.

 

_Junhui,_

_I am sorry again for what happened yesterday. First, let Madam be assured that I will bring the other Westerners around later this week. But as to what happened yesterday, I admit I am somewhat at fault. Jisu asked about the mistresses I have had, and while consulting my English dictionary, the word for courtesan house became 'brothel'. I said The Flower Valley was a first-class brothel, and that is why he behaved in such a crass way. He took your ending the conversation as a transition to...other activities. When I was able to explain the differences of a courtesan house, he was immediately regretful. I have no doubt he’s writing a novel to you now to explain his misgivings and beg for forgiveness._

_Yixing_

 

Junhui fought to not roll his eyes at Yixing’s callous dismissal of blame. How he’d half-convinced himself at fifteen that this man was in love with him, Junhui would never be able to say.

Turning to Joshua’s letter, Junhui was pressed to believe Yixing. There were at least four pages of apologies, citing everything from Joshua’s own stupidity, to his strict upbringing and unfamiliarity with all things relating to buying companionship in the first place for his numerous faults. His last paragraph was the most intriguing.

 

_If you can find in your heart to forgive me, I would enjoy your companionship. As a friend, of course. I think I have proved beyond all doubt that I should have no business dealing with attempting to woo you or any of your ‘flower sisters’. But I enjoyed conversing with someone who has both command over my mother language and an understanding of local culture. My American counterparts cannot claim the latter and Yixing sure can’t claim the former._

_I’ll call on The Flower Valley on Thursday at noon in order to meet with you, if you can accept._

_Humbly,_

_Jisu Joshua_

 

A thick, gold band studded with rubies fell out of the pages of the letter. Junhui’s breath caught in his throat. The light of his rooms made the stones glitter, the cut creating the illusion that the rubies went on forever. Junhui didn’t consider himself a shallow man, but a certain kind of satisfaction settled over Junhui’s skin as he slipped the bracelet onto his wrist. The letter had done most of the work to alleviate Junhui’s lingering anger, and the bracelet had convinced him that he would meet Joshua again. Men could often buy forgiveness in the form of lavish gifts, but Junhui didn’t see it that way. This seemed to him more of an offering of friendship, and he decided to take it.

 

* * *

 

Junhui always wore one of his two Western-styled suits on the days that he met Joshua. Joshua, while he could easily pass for Chinese (if he shut his mouth), never felt the need to hide his American upbringing, which both impressed and infuriated Junhui at alternate points. Junhui found it easier to play his Chinese guide, slipping his hair into simple topknots or let loose in a way that was never acceptable inside The Flower Valley. He kept the ruby bracelet, a clear token of a courtesan, under the cuff of his suits.

“How often are you allowed out?” Joshua said as they ate in a market one day near the end of August. He was concerned with a display of sugared beetles, and probably didn’t notice how he was insinuating that Junhui was a prisoner.

“Whenever I don’t have engagements,” Junhui said tightly. He asked the auntie at the insect stand to put crickets in Joshua’s soup.

“Do you have engagements this week?” Joshua found the cricket in his soup, but instead of shrieking, like Junhui had half-hoped he would, he popped the spoon into his mouth and screwed up his mouth as he chewed mechanically. Junhui felt a warm spot of affection grew at the sight of Joshua smiling into his bowl as he scooped up more.

“Two parties. I have no patron this season, but a few of my old ones have requested me on my off nights.”

Joshua’s ears turned red. He normally coughed and nodded when Junhui brought up his clients, and promptly dropped the subject. Joshua was a Christian, and Junhui had inferred through Joshua’s behavior that they probably didn’t look kindly on the things Junhui let other men do to him.

But today seemed to be different.

“How does...pardon me if it’s improper—” He looked over his shoulder as if afraid of being overheard. “—how do you lay with a man?”

Junhui let on a slow smile. “Perhaps I’ll tell you another time.”

Joshua nodded, as if asking the question was the only thing he had strength to do today. Junhui thought that the actual explanation would be too much for him.

The days that Junhui could spend with Joshua were arguably the best days since he had been in school. Joshua was still a bit stupid, and sometimes his American Yankee-ism would make him bull-headed about situations where Chinese and Western customs or behaviors overlapped. But his laugh was arguably the most beautiful sound in the world, and when he spoke of music and the beauty of the sunset on the Shanghai harbors, Junhui felt like he could wrap himself up in the folds of Joshua’s voice.

Junhui, on occasion, regretted naming him Very Plain, as the other Flowers had taken to calling him.

“Too bad you aren’t a woman,” Minghao said as he organized his tray of hair ornaments in Junhui’s room. Junhui grunted in question. He and Minghao rarely lamented the fact that they were men, except during seasons where few men seemed interested in leaving the comfort of the apex between a woman’s thighs.

“You could be Very Plain’s concubine,” Minghao teased.

Junhui rolled his eyes. “Very Plain doesn’t seem to be tempted by men.”

Minghao sucked on his lip. “That’s a shame. I think even if I weren’t in this house, I could only like men.”

Junhui agreed. Even though he _could_ have bedded one of his Flower sisters, he never felt the desire to. Not only would Kahi kill him, Junhui felt lust in his gut pooling only when he looked at a handsome man’s face, or the strong shape of his body. Even the older men, the fat ones, the ugly ones, were more tantalizing to look at than Fire Flower, the most beautiful of the courtesans.

“You should teach him,” Minghao said, winking at him. “Then, once he takes you away, _I’ll_ the the highest-ranked male courtesan in Shanghai.”

“We aren’t the only ones in the city,” Junhui said, exasperated. After Junhui’s—and then two years later, Minghao’s—debut in a first-class house, other first-class and even more second-class houses debuted male courtesans. But at Minghao’s smug silence, Junhui had to admit to himself that none of the other male beauties had achieved the status that they had.

“I won’t teach him,” Junhui said later. Minghao was almost confused as to what Junhui meant, until he saw Junhui fingering the ruby bracelet. “I won’t teach him, unless he wants to learn from me.”

 

* * *

 

Junhui had many skills as a courtesan. It was a necessity. His reputation as a razor-wit did not appeal to all of his clients, and they often wanted something pretty to look at that could also do pretty things, not just participate in verbal jousts.

Fire Flower and Minghao were both skilled dancers, often getting into competitions in which they tried winning over the same patron with their combination of graceful and erotic dances. Junhui was convinced they had some sort of scoreboard to keep track of who was winning. For Junhui, his best skill was reciting poetry. Many courtesans also had this favorite way to gain attention at parties, but Junhui was highly requested for his theatricality. He was not afraid to act comedic when the narrative ran silly, or let parts of poems that talked of loneliness or sadness take his eyes and voice far away when he should have been using his eyes to seduce patrons into taking those imagined emotions away. One of his previous patrons had often told him he was better than an entire theatre troupe, and far prettier.

Since meeting Joshua, Junhui found his money-gifts increasing, which was strange. He was past twenty now, and not a prime beauty. He accepted the gifts, regardless. He had repaid everything he owed to Kahi more than a year ago, and enjoyed any opportunity to build up his savings.

He was enjoying retelling a poem about the comedy of love at a party near the end of the season. Summer was winding down, and Junhui put out his best stops to draw attention for a new patrons during the fall months.

He tripped over himself when he spoke about the stuttering of first greetings; he fumbled getting up, clutching his chest when he spoke about how hard a heart beat for a lover. He resigned to sit down, acting as if the love he felt were too strong. Junhui caught half of the beauties in the room rolling their eyes at his performance, and the other half trying to hide their own smiles of amusement.

His last line waivered in the air, as he spoke about the only certainty in love being that it is uncertain. Joshua’s face filled his mind.

Junhui’s unease only grew when guests came up to him throughout the night, complimenting him on his ever growing talents.

“You are a treasure, Shining Flower,” an old patron said, curling his hand over Junhui’s jaw. He had spent two seasons with him during his seventeenth year. Junhui had found many nights of pleasure with this man, and might be able to proposition him for a visit to Junhui’s rooms tonight, but the desire was merely a tickle in his groin.

“Something about tonight,” the patron continued, looking at Junhui. “Anyone with eyes could tell that love has touched you deeply.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. He went home alone, but more than that, he went home lonely.

 

* * *

 

Joshua was a true American to his bones. Whatever his parents had done to raise him, they did nothing to preserve any kind of modesty or collectivity in their son. Junhui, in this strange way, lost his prejudice for all foreigners. For every Joshua, who looked Oriental but reeked of Yankee-Doodle-Nonsense, there could easily be a white person with blue eyes that could pass for Chinese in manner and taste.

“What do you need a car for?” Junhui said, mad but not entirely. “You can’t even read the road signs!”

“That’s what you’re here for,” Joshua said back, easy and sweet as cream.

Junhui found that he could sulk just as easily inside the car as out of it.

They drove out of Shanghai, along rice paddies and through barely paved roads. About thirty minutes outside the city, Joshua pulled off the road and got out of the car. A village was a short walk away, and the sun was setting against the outline of Shanghai.

“Do you have any appointments tonight?” Joshua seemed to be talking to the orange sky and not to Junhui, but Junhui answered.

“No.”

“Good. Because I think the car is out of gas.”

“ _WHAT?”_

 

* * *

 

Joshua was unapologetic about the entire situation, no matter how much Junhui tried to instill a shred of guilt into him.

“Something like this is what you remember twenty years from now. Not a simple drive out of town.”

Junhui mumbled under his breath where Joshua could stick his precious memories.

A grannie lent them her shed for the night in exchange for four silver dollars, and said her son would probably be around in the morning. He always carried extra fuel in his tractor. The shed wasn’t wet or creaky, and there at least dry blankets that didn’t smell like pigs.  

It wasn’t until Junhui was settling into his blankets that he caught Joshua smiling to himself, and the situation became very, very clear.

“You planned this,” Junhui said, his voice leaving no room for Joshua to object. He didn’t.

Junhui leaned up on an elbow to look at Joshua. His profile was almost white in the fading light. He’d taken off his suit jacket and shirt already. He stared back at Junhui, his short hair fanning against the floor.

“Tell me why,” Junhui said. It sounded like a declaration in the empty night air. The command of a king.  

He moved closer to Joshua and the other man shivered. His eyes looked almost feverish in the dying light of the day.

“What you do,” he started weakly. “I don’t think you know how much I don’t understand it.”

Junhui let himself deflate, chastising himself for getting his hopes up. It seemed that Joshua only wanted another half-assed conversation about how he couldn’t understand a person who’s lot in life was to pleasure others.

“No,” Joshua sounded a little desperate. “No, no. It’s not that.” He reached out to grip Junhui’s wrist. Junhui had taken off his suit as well. His bracelet was were it always was, but now Joshua could see it. Joshua’s fingers brushed the skin under the ruby bracelet that he had given Junhui all those months ago.

“I don’t understand how you can make me feel so much.”

Junhui exhaled slowly, his chest shuddering. “Tell me more. I’ll help you understand.”

Joshua let out a whimper, tracing the line of Junhui’s arm, smoothing over muscle. He kept his eyes on his wandering hand to avoid Junhui’s gaze. “It’s a sin, I know it. How can it be a sin and I still don’t care?”

Junhui didn’t have much to comment on sins or the wrongness of things. He supposed if there was a heaven and a hell, like Joshua said there was, then he might burn for eternity. But if he could get Joshua to look at him like this during life, Junhui didn’t give a damn about what happened after he died.

“I need you,” Joshua was almost sobbing now, and Junhui shifted to be on top of him, pushed at his chin so he had to met Junhui with teary eyes. “I love you so much. It’s an ache when you aren’t there.”

Junhui settled, his legs spread over Joshua’s slight torso. Joshua’s confession rang in his ears, pounding like the drums during the New Year, and he tried to chase it away, shut his ears to it. Perhaps he loved Joshua too, but he couldn’t admit it. Men said all sorts of things in the throes of lust. He couldn’t let his heart bleed again.

Pressure from their bodies, from Junhui using his weight against Joshua, made them both gasp.

“You asked me once,” Junhui said, gazing down at Joshua with hooded eyes, “how I lay with men.”

Joshua’s mouth was slack. His hardness was already hot against Junhui’s thigh. Junhui reached down, smoothing his hand over the fabric of Joshua’s trousers.

“Let me show you.”

 

* * *

 

Junhui let Joshua take him twice in the shed. Once, rushed, Junhui grinding down against Joshua’s stomach until they both cried out, twitching. Near dawn, Joshua woke Junhui up, nipping at his ear.

“I want to eat you,” he said, voice gritty from shouting and from sleep. Junhui let him, feeling something light and warm in his chest at the sight of his little American working an inexpert mouth between his legs.

Joshua slid into him easily after Junhui reached the heights. He bit his lip at he looked at the slow curl of Junhui’s lips. “How are you…” Junhui could hear the end of his question. _Easy, pliant, like a woman?_

“I opened myself before this disastrous little road trip.” Junhui grunted, shifting back to allow Joshua in deeper. Joshua gasped, at the sensation or the knowledge, Junhui couldn’t guess. “I’ll show you that too. I’ll show you everything. I’ll take you, just like you’re taking me.” The rhythm of Joshua’s hips became erratic, the sound of flesh around them hypnotic. “Because you _belong_ to me.”

Joshua hid his shout in the meat of Junhui’s shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

The most important rule for a courtesan to learn, and to learn quickly, is that love is never good for business.

Junhui had the fortune of learning it quickly with Yixing. Other men had tried to woo Junhui to a breaking point, because sometimes men are cruel and love to watch beautiful things break, but none of them tempted Junhui. Not like Joshua had tempted him.

They still went on day trips throughout the city. Joshua introduced him as a parlor owner to his investment friends, which made Minghao laugh when Junhui told him. On nights that Junhui didn’t meet his the man who had become his patron for the fall (a man by the name of Kun who didn’t take too much effort to please), Junhui invited Joshua into his rooms and made good on the promises he had made in the shed.

It was fine, he told himself. Because his patron was the only person he was _paid_ to please during these three months, and Joshua offered himself up freely.

“You’re in love!” Minghao accused him, several weeks before his contract with Kun was due to expire.

“You fall in love with every other patron you have,” Junhui bit back just as quickly.

Minghao pouted. “You know that’s different.” He squared away his makeup paints and looked back at Junhui, who sat on his bed, twisting his bracelet around his wrist. “I hope he either treats you right, or jumps into the harbor.”

“Thanks, Ming.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you love me?” Joshua still had sweat drying on his brow, the sheets of the bed slung low on his hips. If Junhui had the energy, he’d take him again, just to stop his stupid, pretty mouth.

Junhui smiled sweetly at him. “Did you enjoy the ropes? I don’t think I’ve seen you go off so soon.”

Joshua smiled, but his eyes were devoid of humor as he took Junhui’s hand in his. “I know...I know things are complicated. But if we had a different life, do you think you could love me?”

The tremble in Junhui’s lip preceded his tears for only a moment. Had he had just a second’s more warning, he would’ve been able to control himself. He felt like a chest of drawers that had burst, spewing its ugly contents out onto the floor for everyone to clearly see.

Joshua immediately encircled him, his warm arms both a comfort and a curse, because of _course_ Junhui loved him. How could he not?

“That question is the one that I fear the most,” he said, many minutes later. His breathing still hitched around stray sobs, but he continued speaking. “Because as soon as you ask it, it means you’ve realized that my life cannot be changed. I will always be a slave boy who seduced a city. And you cannot accept it.”

Joshua’s fingers tightened on the skin of Junhui’s shoulders, drawing him back.

“Junhui, I’m the adopted son of parents who sent me away because they didn’t want to look at their squint son when their true heir had finally been born. God didn’t design it for me to feel love. Until you.”

Junhui scoffed, wiping his running nose noisily to avoid looking in Joshua’s direction. “Your god will have a much better option for you later on than a used-up male courtesan.”

Joshua laughed, and Junhui could feel the movement of his shoulders as he shrugged them. “God works in mysterious ways, I grant you. But the love I feel...I doubt He would be cruel enough to take it away from me based on our gender and your occupation.”

Junhui dissolved into a bout of laughter, and it quickly turned to crying. Joshua cried with him.

“I love you,” he finally admitted into the skin of Joshua’s chest. His heart broke a little, became even more vulnerable, but he didn’t take it back. “I love you I love you I love you.”

They went a while without talking, holding only each other and the fragile creation in the air around them.

“I’ll wait until the end of your season,” Joshua said eventually. He drew patterns in the bare skin of Junhui’s back, threatening to put him to sleep. “Then I’ll take you away from this house. You’ll be my only lover, and I’ll be your last.”

“Where will we go?” Junhui was not childish enough to entertain these thoughts usually, but he was in love and on the verge of dreams, and he let Joshua talk about their fantasy life for just a little longer.

 

* * *

 

The end of the fall season came to a close, and Junhui pretended to not be disappointed by the dismal prospects of another few weeks of attempting to snatch another patron. The cycle of it was a borish one, but at least for the winter patrons were never hard to come by. Every rich man in Shanghai wanted a mistress or three to spend the cold nights with.

Junhui was arranging his outfit for a party when Rose Petal came into his room, and announced that Joshua Williams was requesting an audience. It seemed Americans were the type that needed to plainly state that they intended to sever a partnership. It was a rare moment where Junhui wished Joshua to just take the coward’s way and fade into his memories. It might hurt less than the twisting knife of seeing him end it in person.  

Rose Petal gave him a rueful smile that spoke of a motherly fondness. She had been happy to see Junhui happy, but she thought it obviously better that Joshua wake up to his senses and leave Junhui be so that he could have an easy life for the remainder of his time at The Flower Valley.

Joshua was pacing the very same sitting room where he’d so thoroughly embarrassed himself in his first meeting. Junhui almost wanted to laugh at him.

“Jun!” He nearly startled when Junhui walked in. His eyes darted over to Rose Petal, but he cleared his throat and looked back to Junhui.

The floorboards creaked as Junhui approached Joshua. A nervous energy seemed to be rolling of the other man in waves, nearly making Junhui seasick.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been coming by the house lately,” Joshua started. “There’s just been so much to prepare.”

“Just get on with it,” Junhui said hotly. He’d rather it be sooner than later.

Joshua stumbled, clearly not expecting Junhui’s snappish attitude.

“Um. Right. Well, as it’s been told to me, today is the last day of your fall season.”

Junhui was the one that told him that. He folded his arms, unimpressed.

“I’m here to bring you home.”

A silence rang through the air, and Junhui opened his mouth, unsure. _This_ was his home. Unless…

“Now you get it?” Joshua said, still sweating profusely. “You say _I’m_ the daft one.”

“A home?” Junhui said it in Chinese, like it would create a level of reality that didn’t exist in English.

Rose Petal looked at him, and then back to the nervous wreck. “I knew those foreigners were up to no good.”

“You don’t even know what he said,” Junhui admonished her, trying not to cry. Home! A home with Joshua. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

“He’s taking you away from me, I can’t tell that.” Rose Petal still seemed angry, but in a way that didn’t reach her mouth; she kept smiling.

“What’s she saying?” Joshua asked, still too far away from Junhui.

He stepped forward, reaching out for the sleeves of Joshua’s suit.

“She says she wishes she could be in my place.”

Rose Petal banged the door hard on her way out. “I know you’re lying about me!”

 

* * *

**1923**

* * *

 

 

The Chinese doctor came when the Western one didn’t prescribe anything besides rest and a syrup that numbed Joshua from the pain of the fever.

Junhui wrung his hands so much that the gold band on his left forefinger nearly slipped off. That and his ruby bracelet were the only pieces of jewelry he still wore.

“Sorry, Doc,” Joshua said in English. Junhui couldn’t tell if he was doing it to be stubborn or that he couldn’t tell that what language the doctor was speaking to Junhui. “None of this herb mumbo-jumbo sits well with me. Stick a thermometer up my ass or something. No offense to you, of course.”

“Joshua, be _quiet_ ,” Junhui hissed. He turned to the other man. “Was the other one right?”

“Unfortunately,” the doctor said. “It’s definitely the influenza.” There wasn’t much sympathy in his voice, and Junhui tamped down the urge to shake the doctor and demand that he take this seriously and make Joshua better. Many people were sick these days, he had to remind himself. The doctor was probably just as exhausted as his patients.

“Boil these herb in a tea and give it to him twice a day. If two days have passed and he hasn’t started showing the blue spots, he will live.”

The doctor packed away his bags and left their modest home, off to respond to another call from another patient.

“Damn the Spanish,” Joshua said nasally. He was resting in their bed, his brow sweaty and his skin sallow. He’d lost so much weight over the last five days that he looked like a nightshirt stuffed with twigs. 

“Damn yourself,” Junhui said, separating out a portion of herbs to boil. “Who gets the influenza and passes it off as a cold for three days?”

“It was just the sniffles,” Joshua protested weakly. “Do I really have to drink that?” he asked when Junhui thrust the tea under his lip. “It smells like poison.”

Junhui’s silence was all it took for Joshua to drink it guiltily. He made a face like a child turning away green beans. “Icky.”

“You once ate cricket soup,” Junhui chided him. “But your medicine is ‘icky’.”

“That was different,” Joshua said, already talking slowly. Being awake for both doctors had taken a toll on him. His eyelids drooped heavily. “I drank cricket soup to impress a cute boy.”

Junhui’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. “A...cute boy?”

“The most beautiful boy,” Joshua said, amending himself. “He was replaced by a beautiful, nagging roommate.”

Junhui would usually bristle at that, but he took it as a sign that Joshua’s mind was still with him, that he could joke like that. Minghao had fallen sick with the influenza some months before, and before he had died he hadn’t been sane, talking nonsense for hours.

“You can’t leave that boy,” Junhui whispered. He realized that Joshua had fallen asleep, his chest rising and dropping shallowly. He continued to speak, not knowing the order of the words until they fell into the air.

“I don’t know if your god exists. But you don’t believe that it’s cruel, and neither do I. It or the universe or fate gave me you, and I’m not done with you yet.” He brushed a strand of lank hair from Joshua’s pale, perfect brow. “I’m not done laughing with you or walking with you or loving you.”

It baffled Junhui to think that at the beginning, in that shack and after, that Joshua had been so open about his love and Junhui had done whatever he could do to hide it. He had tried to make up that difference in the years that they had lived together, allowing his feelings to pour out from him and into Joshua with no reservations. Joshua seemed to gain strength from that love the longer Junhui gave it, and Junhui had the stray thought that perhaps on the bad days when he picked fights or shouted, Joshua had been weakened, and that’s what brought about the sickness.

Joshua would call him a superstitious Chinese, but with the smile on his face that couldn’t entice an argument from Junhui no matter how hard he tried. He’d simply kiss him quiet.

The next two days were the most anxious of Junhui’s life. He moped the sweat from Joshua’s brow, tilted water into his mouth, led him to the chamber pots during the few moments a day Joshua was conscious. Junhui tried hard not to cry when Joshua refused his herbs, tears streaming down his pale face at the taste and the smell and _Junhui why why why does it hurt so bad_.

No blue spots formed on the second day, but Junhui boiled the leftover herbs until the third morning, just in case. Joshua didn’t wake until that afternoon, but when he did, he smiled at Junhui, his eyes clear of fever for the first time in days.

It took a week for him to be able to sit up on his own, or hold anything in his stomach that wasn’t water and beef broth. But he strengthened, and Junhui poured out all the love in his soul, so that Joshua could absorb it like a sponge.

Three weeks after his fever broke, Junhui found Joshua in their small garden. Junhui sat down next to him, comfortable in his presence but not in the flowers’. They reminded him of his previous life, the one he couldn’t shake, even if he wanted to. Of the people that he had met and loved and lost and been hurt by. He let all of their spirits wash over him, and he became steady once more. 

“Summer is coming,” Joshua said. His handsome face was filling out again, but the touches of sickness could still be seen in his sharp cheeks, the hollows of his collarbone. He might recover more quickly if Junhui wasn’t keeping him up every night.

“Yes,” Junhui hummed, leaning over to touch his head to Joshua’s.

Heat, crops and wells drying up, fires that burned wild. There were many reasons to hate the summer, but Junhui thought of none of these things. He thought of silver dollars and crickets and dusty cars and a gentle boy’s reverent touch on his skin.

“My only,” Joshua said, as if he were looking into Junhui’s mind.

Junhui tilted his head to press his lips against the shell of the other man’s ear.

“My last.”    

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, if you managed to stay with me until the end. I won't spoil the book if you haven't read it, but the character inspired by Joshua did not have the happy ending that he does here :/ Hashtag Justice for Edward  
> I hit a brick wall with my NCT fic, but hopefully I'll get back to it soon (I h a t e chaptered work /cries/). 
> 
> Reading is great but kudos and comments give me life and are really helpful to writers like me :-) thank you all again ilu  
> talk to me on twitter @mxnsxxk


End file.
